by V Vee
Make me hurt.
He grinned wolfishly at me before he pushed my shirt up enough to expose my breasts to the air. He tugged down the cups of my bra and sucked a nipple into the hot cavern of his mouth. My head dropped back, hitting the wall behind me, but I didn’t care. His tongue lashing my hardened nubs felt delicious. I wanted more. So much more.
I reached out and began fumbling with his clothes, not paying any attention to where they landed as I undressed him with a hunger I’d never experienced. My lips, tongue, and teeth were everywhere I could reach. His ears, his neck, his chest. I was frantic for him, and he must have felt the same because pretty soon I was naked, his hand again around my throat, one leg thrown over his shoulder, and his head buried between my thighs.
He sucked and licked my cunt. My slit overflowing with juices that covered the hair on his chin. I moaned his name, pressing my pussy even closer to his mouth. My hips began to swivel and move of their own accord, the pressure on my neck sporadically cutting off my air, only serving to drive the pleasure I felt rocketing through the ceiling.
Andrew lifted his mouth from me and stared up into my eyes.
“Open that pretty pussy for me, baby,” he ordered. “Show me how wet you are for me. Let me see what belongs to me.”
A part of me, being silenced by my hot as fuck center that I could practically hear screaming as Andrew flicked his tongue at my folds, reminded me that I belonged to no man. That I was a boss bitch. A queen. That men and women bowed before me. That I—as Queen Bey said—ran the world© but dammit all to fucking hell, I was hornier than shit at that moment. I couldn’t hear anything over the blood roaring in my ears and my inner freak who had my black feminist in headlock.
So I reached down and I spread the lips of my mons open for him, shivering as I watched his emerald eyes glitter with heat as he shook his head.
“Fucking hell, that shit is beautiful,” he said. He looked back up at me. “You know I’m going to eat this pussy like ain’t nobody’s business, and then I’m going to beat this pussy up, right? Like, I’m going to make it mine.”
I rolled my eyes, because, what woman hasn’t heard a man say that shit to her before, right?
“Promises, promises,” I rasped out.
But I taunted the beast, and like a tiger Andrew pounced. He licked up one side and down the other. Sucking my wet folds into his hot mouth. Making me scream. My hands dug into his hair, twisting and pulling on the strands as his sucked, licked, nibbled. Then he stuck his tongue deep inside of me, before showing me what he was going to be doing in a few short moments with his cock. He thrust and shoved his thick, pink tongue deep inside of my cunt as I rode his face. Growling, grunting, one hand on my hip, helping me along, until I reached down, and with one stroke of my clit I released a stream of juices down his throat, my body trembling and shaking from the force of my orgasm.
But Andrew wasn’t done with me. Not by a long shot.
He rose, both of his hands going beneath my thick thighs and lifting until I wrapped them around his waist. Looking at me intensely, Andrew took my mouth in a bruising kiss and I felt the blunt head of his cock—his surprisingly large cock—at the head of my sex and he pressed inside of me. His tongue in my mouth, tasting every nook and cranny, memorizing my every sound, captured the noise of my moans and my surprised scream as he breached my entrance.
Fuck he was big. Much larger than I’d ever had before. He didn’t stop though, sinking deeper and deeper until my ass rested against his pelvis. Only then did he release my mouth and rest his forehead against mine, my back pressed tightly against the wall behind me.
“You are so mine,” he said harshly, his tone brooking no argument, but I opened my mouth to do just that, no matter how good he felt.
But Andrew didn’t give me a chance to say much of anything, simply told me to “hang on” and then he plowed me like a Montana field in the middle of planting season.
I bounced on his dick like he was a pogo stick or a bucking horse and I was a bronco cowboy and no matter how hard I tried to hold back my moans, groans, and cries of excitement, I was unable to. His sporadic slaps on my thick, curvy black ass only accentuated the pleasure I felt and more than I once I was certain my head punctured the very atmosphere of Heaven.
I saw the face of God and yes, she was black.
She said hi by the way.
Andrew moved around the kitchen, never letting up with his thrusting or his strokes. He fucked me against the refrigerator. Laid me across our breakfast bar and screwed my brains out. Sat me down on the counter, lifted one of my legs over his shoulders, and swiveled his hips before slamming them against mine over and over again until I was slapping my hands against the cabinets, his shoulders, and pulling my own damn hair.
And this shit was expensive as fuck.
And finally… finally, when I didn’t think I could take any more, he sat down in one of our dining room chairs and smiled.
“Get this dick, baby.”
I was beyond thought at that point. I needed to get off and I needed to get off fast. I didn’t care who was in the next room. Outside. On the street. Who could hear, see, smell, taste anything. I wanted my nut, his nut. I wanted all the damn nuts in the whole mother fucking world.
So I rode that big, Irish cock. I bounced on it. I swirled on it. My tits bounced. I was sweaty. I cursed. I profaned. I cried. I begged. I pleaded. I prayed. And it was just out of reach.
And just when I thought I would never cum, Andrew pinched my clit.
Hard.
My back bowed, my head fell back, and I screamed like someone was fucking murdering me.
Because someone was.
Andrew fucking wrecked me. He destroyed my pussy for any other man.
He said he was going to beat my pussy up and that’s what he did.
I felt him cum inside of me. No condom. No nothing. And I didn’t even care.
Which was a problem.
I always cared.
Which meant Andrew was a problem.
I didn’t give a fuck who he was.
I didn’t care what he owned or if he thought I belonged to him or not.
I had to stay the fuck away from the man they called “The Irishman.”
He was going to get me killed.
Or I was going to end up killing him.
Chapter Four
Andrew- The Irishman
I was a man who was extremely content.
More than content.
I was fucking ecstatic.
After I had the biggest fucking orgasm I’d ever had in my life, cumming so hard my eyes crossed, I’d stayed inside of Kyra long enough to know that I’d marked her inside and out. I would never tell her but there were a number of dark bruises already appearing on her skin. I was a little bit ignorant when it came to the flesh of black women. I’d slept with a number of them, but had never felt connected to any of them strongly enough that I wanted to see a permanent, or even a temporary, reminder of our time together. And yet with Kyra? I wanted to tattoo my name on that ass. Hell, I wanted my seed to take root and give her a fucking baby.
I wanted my ring on her finger.
I scrolled through a number of images of engagement rings on my phone. I knew I was fucking crazy. Hell, I was sprung as shit, but I didn’t care. Kyra was mine, and the sooner she had my name, and the sooner she was pregnant with my child the whole world would know it.
My phone vibrated in my hand and I barely managed to restrain the growl that wanted to emanate from my lips. Real life was bursting the post-coital bubble I was wrapped in and I did not appreciate it one bit. Whomever was on the other line of this private call was going to regret it.
“Who the fuck is this?”
“Hello Irishman,” a distorted, computerized voice greeted me. I rolled my eyes and settled back in my seat, already bored. I pressed the button on my center console until the privacy window rolled down and made eye contact with my driver. I knew Ronan would have someone tracing
down the number and finding out whoever was on the other line within a matter of seconds, so I wasn’t worried a bit. When he nodded at me and picked up his own cell, I returned my focus to the voice on the other end of the unwelcome call.
“Who is this?”
The distorted voice tsked at me before chuckling. “You are predictable, Andrew. I knew I would find you at the home of your newest obsession. Just as I knew you would be unable to keep your little dick in your pants. I hope you don’t follow in your father’s footsteps and wind up with a bastard mulatto child out there. We need to keep the McCarthy line pure; don’t you think?” The stranger chuckled and icy tendrils of rage raced down my spine. I clenched my fist. Who the fuck was this person and how dare they malign my father’s reputation in that way? And had they put my woman’s life in jeopardy? I would find them and pull their entrails out through their mouth. “Today was merely the first round of our little game, little Andrew. We have many more to go. Oh, and please do tell Ronan not to beat himself up, because he’ll never find me.”
Before I could say anything, the line went dead and I looked up at Ronan, whose jaw was clenched tight, his brown eyes dark with fury. I didn’t need to tell him anything, my friend had heard every word. Which meant he knew how important it was that we found the bastard who was behind the shooting at Kyra’s house.
This wasn’t some random shooting.
This wasn’t the Italians making a play for more territory or more power here in Baltimore.
This wasn’t even about another Irish family trying to flex their muscle.
This was personal. This was something to do with my father. My siblings.
Me.
Someone knew me. Someone knew my habits. My friends. My siblings.
Someone knew my movements and my thoughts. Which meant it was someone close. Someone I used to trust. Or someone I trusted still.
Someone in the family.
This shit was personal.
Which meant I couldn’t trust anyone.
Chapter Five
Kyra- K-Love
I took a deep breath and pushed open the door of the McCarthy bar. It was the day after the shootout at my house and after one of the best sleeps I’d gotten in years I’d woken up filled with regret. Anxiety.
And shame.
I didn’t do shame.
Which meant I had to come and deal with the source of it.
Andrew.
I ignored the lecherous glances of the men who were at the bar around me. Fucking alcoholics every last one of them.
I wasn’t someone who passed judgement on people usually, but I was on edge. Anxious. And I knew why. I was nervous about seeing Andrew again. I wasn’t sure how he was going to act towards me after our time spent together the day before. Was he going to be cordial? Was he going to take me in his arms and kiss me? Was he going to stake his claim as he’d done before?
Or—disappointment knifed through me—would he pretend as if he didn’t even know me?
The bar was dark, the name of the bar glowed dimly above the bottles of alcohol. Half of the tables were covered by chairs, the floor was sticky by spilled liquor, even though I saw a janitor mopping in the corner. A buxom waitress flirted with a table of men on the other side of the bar, forming a loud group in the corner, one of whom had his large hands on the curve of her rather small ass.
I rolled my eyes when I heard her giggle, then she turned to walk over to the bartender and put in their order. I covered my mouth when she caught my gaze and rolled hers. I felt bad for my uncharitable, if brief, thoughts about her behavior with the group of men. She was simply a woman playing a part, doing what she had to do in order to make tips. I wasn’t someone who was in a position to judge. Especially not when I could be accused of doing the same.
I stopped in the middle of the bar and looked around.
My intel had informed me that Andrew was at his bar at this time of the day, but when I looked around, I didn’t initially see him. However, when I looked back over at the table of men in the corner, I saw him sitting in the middle of the group, the other men, all broad-shouldered and muscled, surrounding him on both sides. His focus was fixed on me, his lips curved up in a small smile.
I swallowed the lump which had arisen in my throat and squared my shoulders. I’d come here for a specific purpose and I would accomplish it. No matter who I had to do it in front of.
I walked over towards him; my head held high. I would not allow him to intimidate me. And I would ignore the way my heart was pounding, my palms were sweating, and my traitorous pussy was starting to soak the cotton seat of my panties.
That bitch was always thirsty for some good cock. But she didn’t run this. I did.
When I came up to the table, as one, all of the men stood giving me a measure of respect I did not exactly expect. Even Andrew stood, pushing the table away from his massive frame. The men to his left moved from in front of him, standing in an almost guard formation their eyes facing the door of the bar, though they each gave me a deferential nod. Andrew came and stood directly in front of me and my breath caught in my lungs.
Fuck, he smelled so damn good.
“Hey, baby. I didn’t expect to see you so early today. Don’t you have to work?” he asked with a smile on his face.
I swallowed and shook my head. I really shouldn’t be surprised that Andrew knew about my daily schedule or my job. He’d no doubt had me investigated, just as I’d had him looked into. He would have been a fool not to, and if there was one thing I knew about Andrew McCarthy it was that he was no fool.
It was also that he had a big cock and a tongue that could do wickedly delicious things to my body.
But that was neither here nor there.
I cleared my throat and shook my head.
“I do. I just… um…” I stammered for a minute, my eyes drinking in the sight of him. Andrew was wearing a black t-shirt that clung to his wide shoulders, barrel-chest, thickly muscled biceps, and trim waist. Surprisingly, the shirt was tucked into a pair of grey trousers, which clung to his thick thighs, and a black belt was wrapped around his waist. He looked as if he were just coming from the office himself. He also looked as if he were preparing to enter a meeting where he would be discussing multimillion-dollar deals and smoking cigars.
He looked absolutely nothing like the dangerous mobster I knew he actually was.
He was still sexy as fuck though and I wasn’t exactly sure which version of him I found more distracting. The man who’d come into my home, tackled me to the ground, then stood back-to-back with me, killing men in my yard as they shot at us, or the one currently standing in front of me, looking as if he just stepped off the set of a GQ™ magazine shoot.
I was so confused. So fucked.
Focus, ho.
I cleared my throat again and lifted my chin. “I am on my lunch break and just wanted to come by and talk with you,” I said firmly, proud of myself for being able to get that sentence out without my voice shaking once.
G’head girl. You accomplished something you’ve been doing since you were one.
Talking.
Damn, my inner feminist was a bitch.
Before I could open my mouth to get started on the speech I’d been rehearsing since waking up that morning and discovering that the very sexually explicit dream I’d had about Andrew was, in fact, not a dream, but a memory—thanks to Michele’s incessant teasing and asking where she could eat in the kitchen without having to taste my “pussy spouge” or Andrew’s “baby making juices”—Andrew lifted me by my hips and sat me down on the table he’d recently vacated. My breath caught in my lungs and I stared up at him in surprise. He grinned at me before offering me a rather smug wink. I was distantly aware of his guards turning their backs to us, and the men at the bar very obviously not looking our way. And the waitress from before? Well, she spun on her heel and returned to the kitchen, the tray of drinks and food she was bringing, still in her hands.
I wanted to be indignant. I
really did. But I have to admit, I liked the way that Andrew so easily manhandled me. He wasn’t afraid of my body. I wasn’t as tiny as other women. As delicate. Or hell, even as feminine, petite, and thin. I was—as my grandmother had always put it—a real woman. My Gender Studies professor called me a Rubenesque woman, but then again, she was built almost exactly like I was, and let’s keep it real, we thicker girls stuck together.
But Andrew never hesitated. He picked me up, tossed me around, moved me, and did whatever he wanted to my body as if my size was of no importance. Of no issue. It made me feel sexy. Treasured.
Beautiful.
But no. I couldn’t let that deter me from what I’d come there for. I was sure I could find some other man, some where who could do the same thing. Regardless, Andrew was. Not the man for me. Our lives were too similar in many ways, and too different in other ways. And most importantly, our darkness would clash in the most dangerous of circumstances and I couldn’t let that happen. I had to protect my family, Michele, my people, and I couldn’t do that if I was constantly spreading my legs open for the Irish man.
“I can still taste you,” his voice was low. Deep. Dangerous. His hand large as it rested on the table next to my hip.
I shook my head.
“I-It was a mistake,” I stammered.
Liar, my mind taunted me, but I shushed that bitch. She wasn’t thinking correctly. She was guided by my pussy.
He frowned and leaned down until his eyes were directly in front of mine.
“What the fuck did you just say to me?” He growled.
“Us. What we... what we did. It... We can’t do it again. It was a mistake,” I told him.
“The hell we can’t, Kyra!” he roared, slamming his hand down on the table so hard glasses fell onto the floor and shattered. This wasn’t what I’d come here for. This confrontation. I’d come to thank him for saving my life. To tell him that I didn’t know who wanted me dead.
To let him know I couldn’t see him again.
